
Ad Astra Per Aspera 



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a Eansag Calendar 


of Sentiments hv 
Eansiasi Writers; 


Compiled by 

IDA COLLISTER 


May the year find you, like the sunflower, 
always facing the brighter side 


Copyrighted, 1915 

Ida CoUister 

MInneapoUs, Kansas 



ANE & COMPANY. TOPEKA 






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They who have looked the world in the mouth declare 

Nature spent several hundred thousand years 

In building Kansas as a theater 

And putting bulky actors on the stage, 

Preparatory to a higher drama, 

Before she turned it, finished, to white people 

For them to act their parts. 

Lincoln Phifer. 

This is the land where the swift-flying shadows — 
Wander at will o'er monotonous plains ; 
Kiss the fresh blossoms that spangle the meadows. 
And sail o'er seas of voluptuous grains. 
Dear are thy chidings and sweet thy caresses. 
Tender thine eyes v»^here the warm lovelight broods ; 
Bright is the sunlight amid thy soft tresses. 
Loving thy heart, but inconstant thy moods. 

George C. Sperry. 



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Of all the States, but three shall live in story : 
Old Massachusetts with her Plymouth Rock, 
And old Virginia with her noble stock, 
And sunny Kansas with her woes and glory — 
These three will live in song and oratory, 
\ATiile all the others with their idle claims 
Will only be remembered as mere names. 

Eugene Ware. 

Kansas, like thy favorite flower, 
Has thy race thus far been run ; 
Morning, evening, finds thee facing 
Toward the right's progressive sun. 

Sol. T. Long. 



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May Kansas skies e'er shower on you 

Golden gifts from their vaults of blue ; 

May Kansas winds that ceaseless blow, 

Now fierce and high, now soft and low. 

Bring with them in their course so free. 

Bright, fadeless crowns of praise for thee. 

May thy sorrows vanish ere scarce they're found. 

Like Kansas snow ; 

And leave no trace on life's background 

As they Ughtly go. 

May the Kansas air thy heart imbue 

With a spirit pure as the Kansas dew ; 

May the boundless prairies stretching here, 

Now fresh and green, now brown and sere, 

So lift thy soul that there shall be 

A broader, larger life for thee. 

Charles Moreau Harger. 



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^■P^HE ground was sodden with the ooze of melting snow, 
£11. the dripping trees were as motionless as granite. The j I 
^^^ last year's leaves, tenacious lingerers, loath to leave the j | 
scene of their brief bravery, adhered to the gray boughs like j j 
fragile bronze. There were no visible indications of life, but j | 
the broad wintry landscape was flooded with that indescrib- I j 
able splendor that never was on land or shore — a purple and j | 
silken softness that half veiled, half disclosed the alien horizon, 
the vast curves of the remote river, the transient architecture 
of the clouds, and filled the responsive soul with a vague tu- 
mult of emotions, pensive and pathetic, in which regret and j | 
hope contended for the mastery. j | 
The dead and silent globe, with all its hidden kingdoms, j j 
seemed swimming like a bubble, suspended in an ethereal so- 1 1 
lution of amethyst and silver, compounded of the exhaling j j 
whiteness of the snow and the descending glory of the sky. | I 
A tropical atmosphere brooded upon an arctic scene, creating j | 
that strange spectacle of summicr in winter, June in January, 1 1 
peculiar to Kansas, which unseen cannot be imagined but once 1 1 

seen can never be forgotten. 1 1 

John J. Ingalls. i I 

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^ OTinter iWornmg on tfie Jfarm i! 

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The north-wind bites uncovered nose and ears 1 1 

And seems to freeze the blood within your veins, I f 

I j The snow is drifted deep upon the plains | f 

I j And pasture-coves where thick-grown wood-lot clears ; I I 

I I The icicles, impending rows of spears, j j 
j j By low-eaves clutched, gleam threatening o'er your head, | j 
j I And in the orchard quite with frost o'erspread | j 
i j The farm-boy's trap, a figure four, appears. I f 

is- I i 

II 11 

I I You quick forget Hfe's trials, cares and pains, | | 

I I You walk with almost reverential tread I j 

I I Through thickets where the berry bushes red I j 
f I Are interlaced like yarn in tangled skeins, f I 
j I And note around the farmhouse row on row | i 
j j Of rabbit tracks a-dimple in the snow. 1 1 

I I Roy Parrel Green. I I 

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Hansiass 3Baj> 



Wandering children of Kansas away, 

By mountain, by desert, by sea. 
Feasting or fasting, at prayer or at play — 

Whatever your fortunes may be — 

Open the doors of your hearts to the breeze — 

Prairie winds never are still — 
Hark to the surf in the cottonwood trees, 

The breakers that bloom on the hill. 

Open your souls' windows — let in the sun — 

The prairie sun gay with delight. 

Where'er your wandering pathways have run — 

Come home tonight. 

William Allen White. 



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1916 fanuarp 1916 



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SF EACH man or woman could understand that every j j 

other human life is as full of sorrows, of joys, of base j j 

temptations, of heartaches and of remorse as his own, I j 

which he thinks so peculiarly isolated from the web of life, j j 

how much kinder, how much gentler he would be! And how j j 

much richer life would be for all of us I Life is dull to no one ; f j 

but life seems dull to those dull persons who think life is dull j j 

for others, and who see only the drab and gray shades in the | j 

woof that is woven about them. j j 

William Allen White. I i 

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("A Certain Rich Man.") | | 



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1916 3mmvp — Jf eftr uar p 1916 

SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



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*#^EBRUARY is winter losing heart and sitting down for 
T| a breathing-spell. Even winter relents. February is 
/^^ winter relenting. After the perfect jubilation of 
harshness in January, February grows tenderhearted. The sleet 
melts ; the snow turns to slush ; the creeks are swollen and 
noisy ; the snowfields become tattered like an ill-kept child ; the 
background shows in patches ; cattle huddle around near the 
friendly haystack and chew cud in a mild way as to say, *'We 
knew your weather would moderate. ' ' Cattle are your genuine 
philosophers. They never fuss. They take what comes. 
They hump up when snow falls and the wind is piercing, but 
they use no bad words that I ever heard, and sleep out in 
the snow without cover, uncomplaining as a soldier trained to 
hard campaigns. When February comes with its temporary 
geniality, the cattle kick up some and frisk as to say, * 'Bully 
for the weather! We're tickled." But a frisky disposition 
I when there is anything to frisk at, and an indisposition to kick 

I when there is something to kick at, are worthy of considera- 

tion. People might learn from the critters if they would only 
take them as school-masters, and chew their cud more and 
their grievance less. 

Bishop W. A. Quayle. 






1916 Jfe&ruarp 1916 Jj 

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^ET another week has journeyed to the silent Shadow- 
land, where dead days and weeks are gathered in a 
solemn spectral band. Many folks have also jour- 
neyed to the soundless shore of space ; many feet that lately 
echoed now have given up the race ; many hands that wrought 
and labored but a little week ago, are at rest, at rest forever, 
while the weeks and ages flow. Many voices are now silent 
that last week were wont to sing ; many friends have left the 
winter and are in eternal spring. When another week has 
vanished, you, too, may have gone away; for in this sad 
worldly hostel, brief, uncertain is your stay. Therefore let 
your little visit be a record of good deeds ; let your pathway 
hint of roses rather than of noxious weeds, so that when you 
have departed from the weary world hotel, later guests may 
read your name and say : **He lived and that was well.'* " 

Walt Mason. 



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1 1 

f AY the course of your lives find no counterpart in | j 

the sluggish course of the dull bayou, a fungus among j j 

streams, which winds and doubles and winds again 1 1 

through miles of rank vegetation ; — but may your lives be I | 

like the river which rises amid the pure snows of the bold | j 

mountain. It grows wider and deeper and more silent, and 1 1 

yet stronger as it flows between smiling farms and thrifty | j 

villages which owe their existence to the bounteous river. ... j j 

Thus goes the shining river, the ever-useful, ever-blessed I j 

river ; best friend of toiling man ; fairest thing from the | j 

creative hand of God. j j 

Thus goes the river to mingle at last forever with the I j 

sunlit sea. I ! 

Noble L. Prentis. i i 



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II 1916 Jfebruarp 1916 || 

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P HERE I stand and watch the plain, and dream of 
the days gone by and of the days to come. How 

j '^^ ^ changed from the prairies of long ago, when the first j j 

1 1 settlers crept across it, is the fertile, busy, thrifty countryside j j 

1 1 of today. This land to me is the fairest under all the dome j j 

j j of heaven. With the wealth that lies below the soil are the I j 

I j riches in it and upon it ; the land that grows the best grain and j j 

1 I the choicest fruit and the finest stock, and, most of all, grows | j 

men and women no matter how poor and unpromising their | I 

first outlook on life may be. Here they develop and strengthen 1 1 

and ripen at last like the com in the autumn. I have loved j j 

it all since first I was tall enough to lift my head above the j j 

divide and look upon it. j j 

Margaret Hill McCarter. | I 

(The Cottonwood's Story.) j j 



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Cpigramsi hv SnpUss 

The burdens that afflict society are voluntary. 

The dish of some is always bottom-up when it rains. 

The poor man's chance depends very much on what the 
poor man has to sell. 

The real difference in men is not in want of opportunity, 
but want of capacity to discern opportunity and power to 
take advantage of opportunity. 

An honorable ancestry is never more than a good symptom. 
Renowned paternity is not discreditable, but in a republic 
it only arouses a favorable presumption. 



1916 JMarci) 1916 



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^utcesisi 



^E HAS achieved success who has lived long, laughed 
often, and loved much ; who has gained the trust of 
pure women, the respect of intelligent men, and the 
love of little children ; who has filled his niche and accom- 
plished his task ; who has left the world better than he found 
it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a res- 
cued soul ; who has never lacked appreciation of earth's 
beauty nor failed to express it ; who has always looked for 
the best in others and given the best he had ; whose life was 
an inspiration ; whose memory a benediction. 

Bessie A. Stanley. 



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1 1 1916 iWarcIj 1916 jl 

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M 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 W 

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ii 

Smmortalttp Ij 

II 

What hope reveals | j 

Mind tries to clasp, | | 

But soon it reels | | 

With broken grasp. i j 

No chain yet forged on anvil's brink | | 

Was stronger than its weakest link ; | i 

And are there not along this chain | | 

Imperfect links that snap in twain | | 

When caught in logic's tensile strain? | i 

And is not immortality I I 

The child of ideality? j j 

Oh, theme of themes! | | 

Are men mistaught? | | 

And hope like dreams, | | 

To come to naught? | j 

Is all the beautiful and good | | 

Delusive and misunderstood? | = 

And has the soul no forward reach? | I 

And do indeed the facts impeach | | 

The theories the teachers teach? | | 

And is this immortality j I 

Delusion or reality? | j 

I I 

And yet at times | j 

We get advice | | 

That seems like chimes | 1 

From Paradise ; | j 

I The soul doth sometimes seem to be 11 

i In sunshine which it cannot see ; | | 

I At times the spirit seems to roam i I 

I Beyond the land, above the foam, | j 

I Back to some half-forgotten home. j | 

j Perhaps this immortality | | 
I , May be indeed reality. 






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Eugene Ware. 
(IronquiU.) | I 



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f ONEY and position are the least important things in 
the scheme of Hfe. Love and work are the only 
important factors in happiness. Given something 
human to love and care for — a wife, a little child, a sister or 
brother — and given work which is congenial and to which he 
I gives his best thought and best efforts, and no man can escape i 

j happiness. Joy in his work is a man's best asset. To love | 

some human being is his finest inheritance. And if he has 
these two essentials he really needs nothing else. For no 
matter how humble his place in the world, nor how closely he 
must cut and cover to make ends meet, he will be happy. 

Dodd Gaston. 

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^^ITPRIL is a gentle maiden with eyes sky-blue and clad in 
S^J a green kirtle braided with wild flowers. She has smil- 
^^ ing lips ; and her smile is warm though her hands are 
cold, the snowflakes being not quite melted from them yet. 
Her voice is the bluebird's voice. She sings with her lips 
closed as singers who hum a minor in an accompaniment to 
vocalization and then trills like a surprise, * 'Bermuda," *'Eer- 
mu-da!" What a lyrist she is! She sings with those sweet 
shut lips meant for kisses as the south -wind knows full well 
and uses them for what they are meant. 

Bishop W. A. Quayle. 



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€as!ter jl 

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/^JP^HIS is the Easter story that should come to every heart. j I 

£1 \j The Christ that came into the desert of this weary Ufe, 1 1 

^*^ and walked here footsore, heart-broken and athirst, | | 

came here for the love that was in his heart. Who put it | j 

there — whether the God that gave Shakespeare his brain and j | 

Wagner his harmonies, gave Christ his heart, or whether it 1 1 

was the God that paints the lily and moves the mountains in | j 

their labors — it matters not. It is one God, the Author and 1 1 

First Cause of all things. It is His heart that moves our own i j 

hearts to all their aspirations, to all the benevolence that the 1 1 

wicked world knows ; it is his vast unknowable plan that is j I 

moving the nations of the earth. j j 

Whether it be spirit or law or tendency or person — what 1 1 

matter? — it is our Father who went to the desert to find His | j 

sheep. I j 

William Allen White. I | 
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He is risen. Now the darkness 

Of the night has passed away, 
And the light of life eternal 

Breaks forth into glorious day. 
Haste, ye women, to proclaim it. 
Tell to all the joyful word, — 
That the sepulcher is empty — 

Risen is our blessed Lord. 

He is risen. Let the dead leaves 

O'er our graves be thickly strewn ; 
Let the wind thru trees all barren 

Blow when summer birds have flown ; 
Let stern death embrace all nature. 

And the frost chain bind the sod, 
Yet the dead shall burst these fetters, 

And return unto their God. 

Yes, the Lord indeed has risen. 

Send the glad news far and near ; 
Death's red scepter has been broken, 

Mourning heart, no longer fear ; 
Christ is building us a mansion 
In that country of the blest, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest. 

J. M. Cavaness. 



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1 1 

' RASS is the forgiveness of nature — her constant bene- 1 1 

I 4Ft^ <^iction. Fields trampled with battle, saturated with j | 

I blood, torn with the ruts of cannon, grow green again | j 

with grass and carnage is forgotten. Streets abandoned by j f 

[ traffic become grass -grown like rural lanes obliterated. For- 1 1 

I ests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is im- j | 

I mortal. It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the senses j | 

I with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue is more 1 1 

j enchanting than the lily or the rose. j | 

Lying in the sunshine among the buttercups and the dande- | j 

lions of May, scarcely higher than the minute tenants of that j j 

mimic wilderness, our earliest recollections are of grass ; and | j 

when the fitful fever is ended and the foolish wrangle of the 1 1 

market and forum is closed, the grass heals over the scar 1 1 

II 

which our descent into the bosom of the earth has made, and | i 

the carpet of the infant becomes the blanket of the dead. i f 

John J. Ingalls. | | 



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1916 april 1916 



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Say, let's forget it, let's put it aside, 
Life is so short and the world is so wide. 
Days are so short and there's so much to do ; 
What if it was false — there's so much that's true, 
1 1 Say, let's forget it, let's brush it away 

1 1 Now and forever, so, — what do you say? 

1 1 All of the bitter words said shall be praise, 

1 1 One of these days. 

1 1 *' 

I j Say, let's forgive it, let's wipe off the slate, 

I i Find something better to cherish than hate. 

I I There's so much good in the world that we've had, 
j I Let's strike a balance, and cross off the bad ; 

1 1 Say, let's forgive it, whatever it be : 

I j Let's not be slaves when we ought to be free. 
j I We shall be walking in sunshiny ways, 

I I One of these days. 

j j J.W. Foley. 

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II 1916 mtil-mv 1916 jj 

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I! 30 I 2 3 4 5 6 !! 

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EFORM must come from the individual. It is a mat- 1 1 

ter of slow growth. It is not accomplished by enact- j j 

ment or resolution. When the members of a consid- | j 

erable majority of any neighborhood, any municipality, any | j 

state or any nation, see a truth clearly enough to make it a j f 

part of their rules of conduct, that community is reformed. | j 

After that the legal enactment comes, making sentiment of | f 

the majority law for the unenlightened minority. Sometimes j I 

in history a strong titanic character arises in a land, who, by j | 

sheer force of will and a powerful example, drags the world j j 

about him along toward the light. j j 

But reform is still a matter of character — either of the in- 1 1 

dividuals in the mass or in some strong individual out of the 1 1 

mass. No reform can be accomplished, no lasting good may 

result from a wave of emotion which has jealousy of the poor 

for the rich and envy of the strong for the weak for its im- 1 1 

pulse. j I 

William Allen White. i I 

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jj 1916 iMap 1916 

I I SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



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Why court the shadows, friends, f | 

And grope in gloom and fear? | j 

Take heart : look always upward, j j 

Where the sun is beaming clear. j j 

We were not meant to languish, 1 1 

And yield to dark despair ; | j 

The cloudy days are sent j | 

To make us prize the fair. | j 

Ad. H. Gibson. | I 

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fE only know they fought and died, and o'er their 
graves the wind has sighed, for many a long, slow- 
footed year ; and winter's snow has drifted here ; 
and in the dawning warmth of spring, the joyous birds came 
here to sing ; we only know that rest is sweet to weary hearts 
and toiling feet, and they who sleep beneath the sod, gave all 
they had to give to God. And in the radiance of the throne, 
their names are known — their names are known! We know 
not from what homes they came ; we can but guess their 
dreams of fam.e ; but lam.ps for them did vainly bum, and 
mothers waited their return, and listened, at some cottage 
door, for steps that sounded nevermore ; and loving eyes 
grev/ dim with tears, and hearts grew old with grief of years. 
And here they sleep, as they have slept, since legions o'er the 
country swept ; where mothers wait before the Throne, their 
names are known — their names are known! 

Walt Mason. 



I i 

II 

I I 
I I 

i i 



i i 

i I 



i^ 


1916 




JHap 






1916 


=p 




SUN. MON. 


TUES. 


WED. 


THURS. 


FRI. 


SAT. 




i^ 


21 22 


23 


24 


25 


26 


27 


=m 









Cfje (!^lb ^oltrier 



^ff^HK old soldier grows tired as the years increase, and 
\9\j he hears only in dreams the roll of drums and the noise 
^^^ of battle. He loves his ease in the quiet afternoon, and 
feels, as he did not once, how sweet are the ministrations of 
sleep. Death need not come to seek him, for, half-way up 
the slope the veteran is marching, if not so gaily as in old 
days, still resolutely and bravely as becomes one who is not 
afraid to meet whatever foe may come. And lo! Death car- 
ries neither lance nor spear ; but only the welcome emblem 
of white which is the sign of everlasting truce. It must be 
sweet to know that the battle is over forever; it must be 
pleasant to sleep in the mercy of Him who hath made it the 
"balm of hurt minds.' ' Let us be patient. To them the hour 
will come, and the repose that awaits the resurrection and the 
life. 

George R, Peck. 



1916 iWap— fune 1916 



I j SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. j j 

II 28 29 30 31 I 2 3 || 






fune 






i i 
I I 



^J^UNE is the month when the prairie blooms with spendthrift gardening, 
^1 when the June wind blows free and full, and the wonder and splendor 
^^ of youth comes by, touching the green prairie grasses, and far and near 
shine the multi-colored lights of prairie wild flowers that go gypsying with 
the wind and bees and then see what God does on a day in June upon the 
wide, wild width of the prairie madcapping toward the sky. Then Rap- 
ture catches your hand and leads you as he will. In June along the lush 
prairie plains grow the uncounted multitude of the spiderwort, the stately 
stalks flowered out to blue so that I have seen spaces blue as the skies 
of Paradise, stately guardsmen holding up their banner of blue, it is a vi- 
sion meet for the heart. And the wild pea lifts and flings its sprawling 
branches above the tops of prairie grass and tosses out a sprangle of yellow 
flowers like warm sunlight, and the brown-eyed susans flash yellow as gold 
with their brown eyes looking intently at the sun's face as to see if their 
lord be looking ; the wild indigo with its frond-like fern almost as gray as 
ashes and its purplish bloom as if it had seen the heather smile and were 
mimicking the smile. The blazing star lifts its cluster of spools twined 
about with red thread; and the prairie cactus stands very big and for- 
bidding with their blades in battle mood ; and the paint-root blooms out 
its red as with intent to anger a bull that bellows about the pasture ; and 
the lark whips the wind with its wings and spurts its limpid song, and the 
curlew calls and the plover hovers ere he lights ; and the grasses are in a 
reel of hilariousness when the winds frolic far. June, love month, rapture 
month, sweet June and the prairie, sweet June and the wild rose! 

Bishop W. A. Quayle. 






1916 fune 1916 



SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



8 9 10 






^ilber tS^fireabs! 



Ij 1916 3mt 19X6 

i I 

g 5 imiiiiiiiuaiirujiiriioiiiiiiuiuaiHiinuinamiiJiiuuol""' D"i"i"""ti"i""i""niitiiiiiHi)auiiiMimioiiiiiiiiiiiiQi ttiiaiiiniiiiaoimjriiuiDiiiiiiiiiiiiaiuiiiiwaiiitiuiJiiiaiiiriiiiiiiianiniiniioiuiiiiiiiiDiiiiiiiiiiiiciiiiiiiiiiiiiDiiiiiiiiiuiQiii iiit 

I i 

I I SUN, MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

!! II 12 13 14 15 16 17 

11 



ING a song of long ago, now the weary day is done, | 

and the breeze is sighing low dirges for the vanished j 

sun ; sing a song of other days, ere our hearts were j 

tired and old ; sing the sweetest of old lays ; ** Silver Threads j 

Among the Gold." We who feebly hold the track in the gloam- j 

ing of life's day, love the songs that take us back to life's spring j 

time far away, when our hope had airy wing and our hearts | 

were strong and bold, and at eve we used to sing, ''Silver j 

Threads Among the Gold." Then our hair no silver knew, | 

and these eyes that shrunken seem, were the brightest brown j 

or blue, and old age was but a dream. But the years have j 

taken flight, and life's evening bells are tolled ; so, my child- j 

ren, sing tonight, * 'Silver Threads Among the Gold." | 

Walt Mason. I 



I 

§ 

i 

I ! 






"-^ "»o,„„„n„«l 



ii 



Ctie Glomes! of Eansag 

The cabin homes of Kansas! 
How modestly they stood 
Along the sunny hillsides 
Or nestled in the wood. 
They sheltered men and women 

Brave-hearted pioneers, 
Each one became a landmark 

Of freedom's trial years. 

The splendid homes of Kansas! 

How proudly now they stand, 
Amid the fields and orchards 

All o'er the smiling land! 
They rose up where the cabins 

Once marked the virgin soil, 
And are the fitting emblems 

Of patient years of toil. 

God bless the homes of Kansas 

From poorest to the best, 
The cabin of the border 

The sod house of the west ; 
The dugout low and lonely, 
The mansion grand and great, 
i The hands that laid the hearthstone, 

I Have built a mighty State. 

Sol. Miller. 






ij 1916 fiine 1916 

I 1 SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

" 18 19 20 2X 22 23 24 



^r 



mt »ap 3Jt Wiovk^ 



'-MB 



§ i 
11 
1 1 



1 1 
1 1 
I i 



3N any given movement, however good, there are good 1 1 

men with bad motives, and in most movements however i | 

bad, there are good men with bad motives. The stage 1 1 

villain who is all bad, and the stage hero who is all good, rarely j j 

appear in public life. Many idols have clay feet and some have | j 

clay heads. And the thing for citizens to do when they find j | 

their heroes are made of flesh and blood is to be charitable. i i 

= i 

Did you ever, more or less gentle reader, stop to think how 1 1 
many things you do every day that would displease the man 
who does things to displease you? The world is moving for- 
ward, not back. The current may be dammed here and there, j j 
but it is never stopped. ''God's in heaven — all's right with 1 1 
the world." 1 1 

William Allen White. i i 



11 



II 



1916 fune-BTulp 1916 

SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

25 26 27 28 29 30 I 



St 



-SOS 



''Each has his work and way, 
Each has his part and pla3% 
Each has his task to do, 
Both of the good and true, 
Though thou art grave and gay, 
Be thou yet brave and true. 

Work for the right and just, 

With an intrepid trust ; 

Then it need matter thee 

Not that thou buried be. 

Either on land or strand, 

Either neath soil or sea." 

Eugene Ware. 



M ■ ■ ' — |g^ 



Rg»»....»««o..» «^ i .»,..^^ 



1916 




fulp 






1916 


z^ 


SON. MON. 


TUBS. 


WED. 


THURS. 


FRI. 


SAT. 




2 3 


4 


5 


6 


7 


8 





^^MMm«aiiiiimiioiiiiiii«iii3imiiiiicwiiiiiiiia» i immi i i i nun n iii i a ""^Sj 

affi».,«»».on..,«.n.«««^ ,» „ T , .,- , , .,,,. ., . . . . -n -o— }*a 



II 
II 

II 






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I! 
1 1 

Ii 



^•^O SEE the goodness in other people, and to help them 
lily to find it in themselves ; to be tolerant of the opinion 
^^^ of others, giving them credit whenever possible for sin- 
cerity of purpose ; to be frank and honest and open-hearted 
in my dealings with others, showing a willingness to accord 
even a competitor a fair opportunity in the race of life ; to 
deal fairly and affectionately with those who are in any sense 
criminal in their acts or tendencies, and to rebuke and criti- 
cise only in love ; to respect and care for my body as a fit 
temple of the soul, by temperance in eating and drinking, and 
to work hard enough to appreciate rest and recreation ; to 
refuse utterly to worry unnecessarily about anything, but to 
strive at all tim.es to entertain only pure and ennobling 
thoughts ; to get good and to give good everywhere, making 
somebody glad of my presence ; finally, 

To see the beauteous world, 
To breathe the fragrant air, 
To hear accordant sounds, 
To feel, to be — 

This is not life! 
There is a larger view, 
There is a deeper breath. 
There is a finer touch, 
And a diviner sound, 
Than sense can e'er reveal. 
To see the glory of the Infinite, 
To feel the breath of the Almighty, 
To hear the voice of the I am — 

This is to live! 

Prof. William A. McKeever. 



si'" 










•^RS 


RR"™™ 


19X6 


lul? 




X9X6 






SUN. MON. TUES. 


WED. 


THURS. FRI. 


SAT. 




























m= 


9 10 XI 


X2 


X3 X4 


X5 





m ... gg 

M V 

I 

I i 

I 

They have tamed it with their harrows ; 

They have broken it with plows ; 
Where the bison used to range it, someone's 

Built himself a house, 
They have stuck it full of fence -posts ; 

They have girdled it with wire ; 
They have shamed it and profaned it 

With an automobile tire, g 

They have bridged its gullied rivers ; I 

They have peopled it with men : 
They have churched it, they have schooled it 

They have steepled it — Amen ! 
They have furrowed it with ridges ; 

They have seeded it with grain, 
And the west that was worth knowing, 

I shall never see again. 

J. W. Foley. 

I 

§ 

I 
I 

1 
1 

I 

§ 
§ 

I 



3t» 



Wi 



1916 fulp 1916 



r 






OTIjen #ur ^f)ipg Come 3n 

When our ships come in from roving, 

On the bright and restless sea, 
There will be a grand procession. 

To receive us tenderly. 
All our friends will flock to greet us, 

All our foes will cease to be, 
Ah ! there will be hearts to love us 

When our ships come in from sea. 

Day by day the mocking mill-wheels 

Make us older as they go, 
Grinding out our lives in barter, 

For the gold exceeding slow. 
Let the mill-wheels grind and grumble, 

Let them mock with giddy glee. 
In their throats the rust will gather, 

When our ships come in from sea. 



X916 lulp 1916 



I! ^ 

I I SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 1 I 

II I I 

I! 23 24 25 26 27 28 20 !! 






il 



,„„„„c,Hn,n,<>„an,n o m.uiiiii.niiiiuiiii ,iD.i,i.i»iii<nuin.i aii.n.imi.u.n.im.iiia.i. oi.iiii»..iiumi.uiiiiiu>ii inuitiniimiici.iimi.in.uii, mm ncimmmiiicim. uoiiimii.iiioin. ii.u ;iii»»unnmo.ii. a„<,im<i>o«mimfti[3J[5{ 

i I 

11 11 

II § I 

11 1 I 

II . I 

If II 

II II 

ii 11 

II 1 1 

1! tE;f)e (Jiatesi ^jar 1 1 

II II 

I i I have seen a Kansas sunset like a vision in a dream, j j 

I I When a halo was about me and a glory on the stream ; I i 
j I When the birds had ceased their music and the summer's day I j 

I I was done, j | 
j j And prismatic exhalations came a-drifting from the sun ; j I 

I I And those gold and purple vapors and the holy stillness there, j j 
I j Lay upon the peaceful valley like a silent evening prayer, | i 
I ! And I've gazed upon that atmospheric splendor of the west 1 1 
j j Till it seemed to me a gateway to the regions of the blest. j | 

I I Albert Bigelow Paine. | | 

II ' j I 

I I I 1 

II i i 

II if 

11 

- i 

i i i I 

1 1 1 1 

I i I i 

is 11 

II II 

Si = = 

ii ii 

g g ' I ! 

II II 

M' ^ " ° " ° '- "- ™ ° '^ ° ™ "."- ° ™ ° '^ ° ™ ° ™ ™™ ™ ° ° " M 



8 i 



""«» 



ij 1916 3ulv—nuQU6t 1916 

i ! SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

I I 
II 



30 31 






Sg: 



K^t iWill of Hilt 



""'»M 



11 



I 11 

i 



This life is one continual grind | i 

With some wheels out of gear : 1 1 

Dust from the old mill makes us blind, 1 1 

Its roaring dulls the ear. I j 

i I 

The ancient Adam in us wakes, 1 1 

From cranium to the feet, 1 j 

When as his toll the miller takes 1 1 

The finest of our wheat. 1 1 

ii 

And when death strikes the balance sheet 1 1 

And blots us from the list, j j 

There's little left but chaff and cheat, j | 

As our part of the grist. 1 1 

J. M, Cavaness. | | 



11 
I 1 

II 

11 



il 



KK""'"""™""""" 



1916 !l«s««t 1916 



1 1 

i i 
SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. I I 



I _ 

I 6 7 8 9 10 II X2 I 



r 



=M 



j Sweeter to me than the salt sea spray, is the fragrance of 

I summer rains. 

I Nearer my heart than the mighty seas are the wind-swept 

j Kansas plains. 

I Dearer the sight of the sly wild rose by the roadside's dusty 

I way, 

I Than all the splendor of poppy fields ablaze in the month 

j of May. 

j Gay as the bold poinsettia is, and the burden of pepper trees, 

I The sunflower, tawny and gold and brown, is richer to 

I me than these ; 

j And rising ever above the sound of the hoarse, insistent sea, 

j Is the voice of the prairie, calling, calling me. 

1 Esther M, Clark. 

i 1 



ff 



i ! SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



1916 august 1916 11 

I i 

i i 

ii 



11 13 X4 15 X6 17 18 19 



:;=:=gi 

i 

! 
I 

I 

i 



Mallsi of Corn 

Smiling and beautiful, heaven's dome 
Bends softly over our prairie home. 

But the wide, wide lands that stretched away 
Before my eyes in the month of May ; 

The rolling prairie's billowy swell, 

Breezy uplands and timbered dell ; I 

! 

Stately mansion and hut forlorn — 
All are hidden by the walls of corn. 

Ellen P. Allerton. 




ff""'™ "'"""" ™ "'" ^" ""^ ° "'" "'" ~^ "" ~"'~ "'^ ""~ ~ ™" ^ H 

il 1916 iaugusit 1916 ii 

i! \-- 

I j SUN. MON. TUBS. WED. THURS. FRl. SAT. | 1 

II 
i I 

§ i 

...jai 



3N THIS wide universe, wherein we are slowly growing 
up to Godhood, only the poor leprous soul, whitened 
with malice and hate, deserves the angels' tears. The 
rest of us — weak, failing, frail, to whom life deals its sorrows 
and its tears, its punishments and its anguish, — we leave the 
world nearer to God than when we came here, and the jour- 
ney, though long and hard, has been worth the while. 

WWiam Allen White. 
("A Certain Rich Man.") 

When one comes to know an animal well — say a horse or a 
dog — and sees how sensibly it acts, following the rules of con- 
duct laid down by the wisdom of its kind, one cannot help 
wondering how much happier, and healthier, and better, hu- 
man beings would be if they used the discretion of the animals. 

William Allen White. 



K g— — , - „ — ■ . »„ . ^ ,. .^, ,..oi,=,.,.^..,^..«„:^^ 



-ass 



-SOS 



1916 August— September 1916 \\ 

! I SUN. MON. TUBS. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. | | 

i I 11 

ii ;-:zrz;:z:rz:;rz:L;izzzzzz;:z; gg 

11 27 28 20 30 31 I 2 11 






u 






^Beautiful Zi^in^^ 

Beautiful hands are those that do 
Work that is earnest and brave and true 
Moment by moment the long day through. 

Beautiful lives are those that bless — 

Silent rivers of happiness, 

Whose hidden fountains but few can guess. 

Beautiful twilight at set of sun, 
Beautiful goal with race well won. 
Beautiful rest with work well done. 

Beautiful graves where grasses creep. 

Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep 

Over worn-out hands — oh, beautiful sleep. 

Ellen Palmer AUerton. 






1916 September 1916 



MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



8 11 



MS- 



#oltren 3^ob 



Oh, hardy little flower! 

You speak of courage clear, 
And hint to us a lesson 

To light life's fading year. 

Ad. H. Gibson. 



i 



Again the rains have come. 

And all the earth revives, i 

And over fields and prairies j 

The golden rod now thrives. 

Sweet Kansas golden rod, j 

What scepters bright you lift, i 

In every vacant corner, | 

With growing things adrift. ' 

You herald in our autumn, 

And cheerfully essay, 
With richest gold our prairies 

And our orchards to array. 




r 



ia*»,„«.a,™,,».™,.„ c».«a«„™,H«a, »,a,««H.,c«.»«n,,™n»,,™™»™,c».™,,,«™u.,«.«»,m,ou>,n«.u™,.,,»„^ 



Cte ^unflotuer 

"FLOWER of t±ie sun! God named it so, 
VMien from His hand time caught the seed, and low 
Bending, He watched the place 
Where it had fallen, and in his face 
Shone forgiveness, and pity, and love 
For men as gently He said : "I will rear above 
This barren spot a flower, in which the gold 
Of sunset and the lucent glow of the noontide hold 
Equal place, and its strong stem shall lift 
To Heaven a gilded chalice to catch the dews that sift 
Among the stars and fall to kiss the earth ; and tenderly 
That flower shall raise its face to me in constant loyalty." 

Child of the grassy plain. 

Facing the day, 
Blooming in sun or rain, 

Evermore gay. 
Coming the first to bless, 

Widespreading wilderness, 
Flaunting and free ; 

Coming in power 
Kansas is Hke to thee. 

Sunflower. Soble L. Preniis. 



"AYE, a flower for the nation! That follows still the light : 
With heart of gold that ne'er grows old, and face that's ever bright ; 
That to the wildest breezes tosses loftily its crest. 
Choose what ye will, but give to us the sunflower of the West." 

{Anonymous.) 



19X6 September 1916 



SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 



Days that glide in an even rhyme, 
To which our feet keep steady time — 
Be they in May or in December ; — 
Days when Ufe is a summer sea, 
Whereon He ships rocked dreamily ; 
Days when an easy round of care. 
Is all the load that our shoulders bear ; 
Days that a calm succession keep 
Of peaceful labor and peaceful sleep ; 
Days that serenely slip away. 
With little of sorrow, yet scarcely gay, 
Are not the days that we remember. 

Days that are fraught with throbs of bliss, 
With love's caress, with love's close kiss — 
Be they in May or December ; — 
Days when rush through our wilderness 
Whelming torrents of happiness ; 
Days when the heart, in its joyous swell, 
Beats and throbs like a festive bell ; 
And days, oh! days when we sit alone 
With dumb white lips that make no moan. 
By close sealed vaults, whose chambers cold 
Our loveliest, dearest treasures hold ; 
When as the heavy hours drag by, 
We long and long in vain — to die ; — 
These are the days that we remember. 

Mrs. Allerton. 



RH»u™, 


1016 


September 


1016 




SUN. MON. 


TUES. WED. THURS. 


FRI. SAT. 


U»>»p. 


24 25 


26 27 28 


29 30 






f? 






^_...-.,._..._.....,..-^ ^ =^ 



i 

I 

^Jje Kansas! 0ttohtx 

The cheeriness and charm 

Of forest and of farm 

Are merging into colors sad and sober ; 

The hectic frondage drapes 

The nut trees and the grapes — 

September yields to opulent October. 

The cottonwoods that fringe j 

The streamlets take the tinge ; | 

Through opal haze the sumac bush is burning ; 

The lazy zephyrs lisp, 

Through cornfields dry and crisp 

The fond regret for days no more returning. 

Ironquill. 

1 

I 
I 



-SOS 




^f^t 0lii Country ^tore 

I 

j Oh, the old country store, 

j What a joy there to visit, 

j With postoffice boxes 'mid cobwebs galore, j 

I That gave us the letters and papers on Monday, j 

I That rode in the mails for a fortnight or more. | 

I Oh, never a city with street-cars and bridges j 

I And viaducts, factories, yea, all of these, 

I Can e'er beat the store at cross-roads on Cow Creek, 

i Where I first bought candy and crackers and cheese. 

I Ed Blair. 



1916 


i^ttohtv 




1916 


SUN. MON. 


TUES. WED. THURS. 


FRI, 


SAT, 


8 9 

s===::;iz:=:== 


10 XI 12 


13 


14 



II 



i i 
II 



j 

I C? V iV I. V l^ l\} I'T 11 

11 
"' »ftft 



xx< 



Sntrian Summer in i^ansiasi 



'HE last real Indian summer day of that autumn fell on 
1 1 ^£1/ ^ Sabbath following a week of chilly gray skies, bitter 

j I ^»r j^Qi-j^ing air, and frost on the lowlands. All these were 

1 1 swept out of mind by the sunburst of the glorious dawn of a 

I j holy day, in whose sweet hours the heavens were arched above 



1 1 the earth, like an amethyst dome, tinted about its low rim 

1 1 with topaz and mother-of-pearl ; while shimmering prairie and j 

1 1 wooded headland and winding waters, in deep, purple vales, I 

1 1 smiled back at the skies above them. Beneath the cotton- I 

1 1 I 

1 1 wood trees the ground was golden with fallen leaves. The | 

! j edge of the ravine was all scarlet with sumac, blending through | 

1 1 duller tones to the richness of the oak brush and the dark 

I j green of the scrub cedar in the hollow. The bittersweet 

I i bushes hung with coral beads, and the deep pink of the strag- 

I j gling squawberry brightened the bronze brown of the upland. 
j I In the far distance a wreath of heliotrope haze hung between 

I I heaven and earth, as if the hand of Omnipotent Beauty would 
j I lay upon the brow of nature its crowning gift to the year's 
1 1 best days. Across the land flowed the caressing breeze of the 
I j open west, exhilarating as wine, gentle as peace, buoyant as 
j j hope. I 

I I Margaret Hill McCarier. j 

Ij ("A Wall of Men.") j 

li i 






1916 ©ttohtv 1916 



I 1 SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 



j I 

I! 



15 X6 17 18 19 20 21 



d^pportttnitp 



It 

I g 

il 
fi 

I i 

I 



Master of human destinies am I ; 1 1 

Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait ; 1 1 

Cities and fields I walk ; I penetrate j | 

Deserts and seas remote, and passing by 1 1 

Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late | j 

I I knock unbidden once at every gate. j | 

j If sleeping, wake ; if feasting, rise before 1 1 

I turn away. It is the hour of fate, j | 

And those who follow me reach every state 1 1 

Mortals desire, and conquer every foe 1 1 

Save death ; but those who doubt or hesitate, j I 

I Condemned to failure, penury or woe, | j 

I Seek me in vain and uselessly implore — j | 

I answer not, and I return no more. j j 

John J. Ingalls. | I 



11 

1 s 

M 
ii 




3 



^ 



3 



Zohav 



Work on, work on — 

Work wears the earth away ; 
Hope when tomorrow comes, 

But work today. 

Work on, work on — 

Work brings its own relief ; 
He who most idle is 

Has most grief. 



Ironquill. 



As the strings of a harp standing side by side, 

Are the days of sadness and days of song ; 
The sunshine and shadows are ever allied. 
But the shadows will fade and the sun abide, 

Though today may be dim and the world go wrong. 

Eugene Ware, 




I 

II 
II 



1016 



d^ttober— i^obember 



1916 



SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. 



SAT. 



29 30 31 



I 

I 

ii 

II 



^: 



/^•P^HE springs that move God's universe are hidden, — those 
II \j that move the world of material things and those that 
^^^ move the world of spiritual things, and make events 
creep out of the past into the future so noiselessly that they 
seem bom in the present. It is all a mystery, the half-stated 
equation of life that we call the scheme of things. Only this 
is sure, that however remote, however separated by time and 
space, the tragedy of life has its root in the v/eakness of men, 
and of all the heart-breaking phantasms that move across the 
panorama of the day, somev/here deep-rooted in our own souls' 
weakness is the ineradicable cause. Even God's mercy can- 
not separate the punishment that follows sin, and perhaps it 
is the greatest mercy of His mercies that it cannot do so. 
For when we leave this world our books are clear. If our 
souls grow, we pay the price in suffering ; if they shrivel, we 
go into the next world, poorer for our pilgrimage. 

William Allen White. 



^ 



j§' 










r^ 


1016 




^obember 




1916 




SUN. 


MON. 


TUES. WED. TmjRS. 


FRI. 


SAT. 




5 

3C 


6 


7 8 


10 


11 


■«sa[ 



«»H 



II 

i i 



I 



li 



Wi^tn Jf ate to Jf ace 



How long the space 
That separates from those we love 
Who left us for the realms above ! 
1 1 They're safely mansioned in the skies, 

And hidden from our mortal eyes, 
But by-and-by the gates of gold 
By loving hands will be unrolled, — 
Then face to face. 



In sweet embrace, 

Long years ago I pressed the hand 

I j Of one my heart could understand ; 
j I When buried lowly neath the sod, 

I I I knew his spirit was with God, 

I j When dawn on us the eternal years, 

I j And God shall wipe away all tears, — 

I I Then face to face. 

i I , J. M. Cavaness. 

II 
I! 

I! 
il 








1916 


iSobembcr 


1916 






SUN. MON. 


TUBS. WED. THURS. 


FRI. SAT. 






12 13 


14 15 16 


17 18 





Stuck in a Kansas hillside, far away, 
Is a cabin built of sod and built to stay : 
Through the window-like embrasure 
Pours the mingled gold and azure 

Of the morning of a gorgeous Kansas day. 

Blue-eyed children round the cabin chase the day ; 
They are learning life's best lesson — how to stay, 
To be tireless and restful. 
And the antelope look wistful, 

And they want to join the children in their play. 

Happy prairie children 1 Time with rapid wings 
To the earnest soul the golden trophy brings, 
As the Trojan said, **Durate 
Vosmet rebus et servate," 

Hold yourselves in hand for higher, nobler things. 

IronquilL 




Eittle ^fjingsi 



But what is life? Drops make the sea ; 
And petty cares and small events, 
Small causes and small consequents, 
Make up the sum for you and me. 
Then, O for strength to meet the stings 
That arm the points of little things ! 

Ellen P. AUerion. 

To rest as well as labor 

God made both brawn and brain, 
And strongest brain and muscle 

Endure not ceasless strain. 
Let once the spring be broken, 

The loss is great indeed ; 
Work, then, but labor wisely, 

And thine be labor's need. 

Ellen P. AUerion. 









1916 



^ofaember— ©ecember 



1916 



SUN. MON. TUBS. WED. THURS. FRI. 



II 



SAT. jl 



26 27 28 29 30 



JJJ»m:mtictiimniii!r: 



i! 



Kansas 



1916 ISccem&er 1916 

SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

8 






Kansas com and Kansas wheat, | | 

Kansas rye and oats, | ° 
Kansas sugar- cane and beets, 

Kansas steers and shoats ; 

Kansas air and Kansas soil, | | 

Kansas sunny skies, | | 

Kansas grit and Kansas toil, | | 

Kansas enterprise ; | | 

Kansas mines and Kansas mills, | | 

Kansas brawn and brain, | | 

Kansas valleys, plains and hills, | j 

Kansas sun and rain ; | | 

Kansas homes and Kansas farms, | | 

Kansas fruits and shades ; I | 

Kansas schools and Kansas marms, j j 

Kansas buxom maids ; | | 

Kansas culture, Kansas wealth, | | 

Kansas iron rails, j | 

Kansas climate, Kansas health, | | 

Kansas empty jails, | | 

Kansas books and Kansas press, j j 

Kansas prose and rhyme ; — | j 

Kansas more but never less, | | 

Kansas all the time. | | 



I I 
11 



W, F. Craig. | | 



kkZIZIZIZZ^^ 






sot- 



Wt^t (2^ltr ^tone 0mxxv 



§ § 

II 



There are human souls that seem to me 

Like this unwrought stone — for all you see — j i 

Is a shapeless quarry of what might be, 1 1 

Lying idle and overgrown I j 

With tangled weeds, like this beautiful stone — | j 

Possible work, left undone, 1 1 

Possible victories, left unwon. j j 

And that is a waste that is worse than this ; i i 

5 I 

Sharper the edge of the hidden abyss, 1 1 

Deadlier serpents crawl and hiss. 1 1 
And a day shall come when the desolate scene. 
Though scanned by eyes that are close and keen, 
Shall show no trace of its "might have been." 

Mrs. Allerton. 



ii 



I i 

I I 

ii 

11 
1 1 

ii 

ii 
II 



I 1916 December 1916 

I SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. 

I 10 XI 12 13 14 15 16 



il 
1 1 

11 

ii 

11 

if 



Winter »mtr anb jloonligfit jj 

Dark blue above ; white, marble white, below ; 1 1 

And woven shadows of the swaying trees i i 

That roar and moan like far off rising seas ; l i 

Frail huddled weeds complaining here and there, 1 1 

Like ghosts above their graves ; and everjrwhere f | 

The snow the endless snow, and still the snow! i I 

i i 
Albert Bigelow Paine. | I 

I! 
!! 

ll 
II 

I i 
I I 



aw- 

!l 1916 December 1916 i! 

ij il 

j f SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. | I 

!l X7 18 19 20 21 22 23 I! 

II II 



The awe-struck shepherds leave their sheep, 
To kneel before the babe asleep, 

And in a manger laid ; 
And worshiping, their voices raise 
In adoration, love and praise. 

No longer sore afraid. 

While Eastern Magi from afar, 
Led by a single glowing star. 

His holy name repeat. 
And, as their treasure they unfold 
Of myrrh and frankincense and gold, 

Fall prosprate at His feet. 

Oh, passing strange that natal day — 
A new born King in bed of hay, 

And passing strange the sight 
Of herald angels in the sky. 
Lifting their seraph voices high 

To praise the Lord of Light. 

Cora Walker Hayes. 



11 



X916 December 1916 

1 1 

SUN. MON. TUES. WED. THURS. FRI. SAT. | \ 

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 jl 



K^t %m ^our of ti)e d^llr fear 



11 



I sit me down to watch with thee, old year, | 

E'en to thy last throe, for I have loved thee well ; | 

And fain would at thy parting drop a tear, j 

Though I may chant no requiem, toll no bell. j 

I 

I trim my midnight lamp, and sit and think. j 

One questions conscience at a death-bed, so here | 

I question mine, and ravel, link by link, j 

My chain of words and deeds that spans the year. j 

I 

Would it were woven better! But in vain | 

Are all regrets unless one gird the life, j 

Amid the sackcloth of repentant pain, j 

With strength to conquer in a braver strife. § 

Mrs. Allerton. I 



"The leaf shall turn at midnight. Nevermore 
Shall human deed or passion mark its face. 
And none may change it, though repenting sore. 
We write at will — oh, would we might erase!" 



KM""' 
M}K»" 



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II 

1916 Becemfter 1916 II 

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